Timelines
by TheDarlingDearheart
Summary: Called to Downing Street on a matter of national security (or so they say), Helen Magnus must ally with world traveler extraordinaire, Phileas Fogg, to restore peace to his timeline... And perhaps have a few adventures in between.


_Also published to my AO3_

I possess an indiscriminate love both for Sanctuary and for SAJV, shows which I believe came before their time and which neglected to receive enough attention back in the day. Secret Adventures doesn't even have DVDs for goodness sake! That said, I thought of this crossover/pairing many moons ago (likely late at night as is my habit) and thought I'd try my hand at my first multi-series fanfiction piece. If you're reading this story, you're probably a fan of one or the other, and I hope you enjoy this little... whatever it is. This story begins a short while after "Let There Be Light" in SAJV-land and between 1889-91 in the Sanctuary verse.

* * *

 **In Which Helen Magnus and Phileas Fogg Meet**

"It's a matter of National security, Ms. Magnus..."

"Doctor."

" _Doctor_ Magnus."

Of _course_ it was. There was always something insecure going on nationally. And, naturally, the government, or Secret Service, or whomsoever was supposed to be in charge of these matters, required her help. Helen looked up from the paper they'd given her to read and raised a delicate brow. _Surely_ they must be joking.

"Gentlemen," she began softly, so as not to frighten or confuse their simple minds, "I don't believe that this is necessary. Certainly there is little cause for concern."

"Keep reading," one of the men instructed.

With a barely-concealed huff of disdain, she did as told and returned to the document. She was white as a sheet by the time she made it to the end.

 _Blackmail. Their angle was blackmail._

She spoke, gaze averted, when she was sure she could trust her voice. "How do you know about John–?"

"Careful investigation," someone replied with great haste. "As you can clearly see," he persuaded, "this sort of thing should be right up your alley, as they say."

She wished it weren't.

"Then I can gather my own team. I don't need a handful of your amateurs," Helen retorted, though it appeared that she was fighting a losing battle.

"I think you will find our 'amateurs' to be anything but, Doctor Magnus."

With something of a remorseful sigh, she conceded. "Very well. When am I to meet them?"

"Noon tomorrow."

"Where?"

"Here."

Simple enough.

"Until then..." She rose to leave.

"Oh, and Doctor Magnus... Our dear friend Doctor Watson need not know about this little endeavour, hmm?"

The blonde humoured him with her best false smile and a bat of her lashes.

"No, indeed not."

... ... ...

It was pouring rain as she made her way to Downing Street the next morning. No one had anticipated the downpour, and as such a great many people were in the same boat as she: Drenched, nearly soaked through. To Helen's credit, all grumbles and gripes were kept to herself as she trudged onward through the copious amount of puddles. She turned miserably onto Downing Street at long last, and rammed straight into someone's back.

"My apologies–!" she began quickly as the gentleman wheeled around, no doubt ready to go in for the kill.

But once he'd fully turned, his gaze softened to something of amusement. Helen figured it was because she must look like a drowned cat and he took pity on her.

"Quite alright," he assured, his stupid little smirk threatening to become a full-blown smile. "I dare say the same cannot be said for you..."

 _No, I dare say it can't,_ Helen thought bitterly. "I'll be fine once I'm inside," she replied instead, forcing a smile.

"When might you be getting there?" he queried over the din of the rain.

Helen pointed to the door of the building on her left. "Just there."

The stranger's smirk turned to a grin. "Then you must allow me to escort you— I'm headed there as well." He offered his arm and Helen gratefully accepted.

Once inside, they rid themselves of their outerwear and were bade sit and wait. It was then that Helen, damp and uncomfortable though she was, deduced that this man sitting in the chair next to her in his frankly outdated fashions must be one of the people with whom she was scheduled to meet.

"I beg your pardon," her subject of scrutiny began quietly, the corridors demanding a reverent silence, "but I don't believe I've introduced myself."

"You haven't," she confirmed with a smirk of her own, now. "Nor I to you. Doctor Helen Magnus." She extended her hand for him to shake, though he merely grasped it in his.

"The infamous Doctor Magnus! I thought you'd be a man—!" His eyes widened at the realization of what he'd just said." You must forgive me, I meant nothing by it."

She snickered softly at his panic, which she knew was cruel of her. Helen was confident she could grow to like this man. "There's nothing to forgive, Mr.–?"

"Fogg!" he exclaimed quickly. He felt like a bumbling fool around this woman, and got the distinct impression that most men did. "Phileas Fogg."

Helen stared at him for a long time, until he looked away and feared he must have broken her. Phileas set her hand on the arm of her chair and softly cleared his throat as he took up observing the wood grain on the wall paneling across the way. Oh, but they were off to such a _fantastic_ start.

"My sincerest apologies, Mr. Fogg," Helen started at length, "but are you truly _the_ Phileas Fogg? Who traveled–"

"Around the world in eighty days," he finished," yes."

The blonde's face lit up instantaneously. "Incredible!"

"Ah, not so," he was quick to correct. "My dear friend, Mr. Verne, takes quite the liberty with that tale, so I've heard."

"But the great majority of it must be true... What about Jean Passepartout? And Princess Aouda?"

Phileas chuckled softly. "Passepartout, yes. You'll have the... _pleasure_ of meeting him shortly, I expect. Aouda..." His gaze turned distant as memories of a little Texan hostess came flooding back to open the still-fresh wounds. "Well, as I said, _liberties_..."

Helen gave him a small smile, his sudden sadness not lost on her. "Well, at the very least, I shall very much enjoy my meeting with Passepartout. Though, surely it's not just the two of you?"

He shook his head. "My cousin, Rebecca, often accompanies us, as does young Mr. Verne."

Helen found herself gaping once again. She and Jules were rather good friends; had been for years, though he'd never told her of these people, nor their exploits.

"He's never mentioned you before..." She furrowed her brow of a sudden and locked eyes with the man beside her. "I'm sorry... Did you say a _young_ Mr. Verne?" The Jules Verne she knew was certainly anything but young.

"I did indeed..." Now it was Phileas' turn to frown. "You speak as if you know him."

Helen nodded enthusiastically. "I do! That's to say, I _think_ I do... As I said, he's never–"

She was interrupted and forced to a halt as both she and Mr. Fogg were bade join the Prime Minister for their discussion.

An agonizing hour and a half later, they were dismissed, Helen bustling off ahead in a hurry.

"Ms. Magnus!" Phileas called after her retreating form.

" _Doctor_ ," she called back habitually as her pace quickened.

"Yes, _Doctor_ , sorry!" he amended hastily. "Please wait; allow me to explain."

The doctor whirled around, skirts swooshing and her eyes searing.

"Time travel!" she exclaimed indignantly, hands balling into fists. "They must be _mad_!"

"I assure you, they're not," Phileas hedged carefully, taking a small step toward her. "Please..."

Something about the desperate tone of his voice made Helen relent, albeit minimally. Her fists unclenched and she straightened, gently clearing her throat.

"Mr. Fogg–"

"Phileas."

" _Phileas_ ," she began again, softer, "I have worked with all manner of creatures, most of which few people can scarcely imagine. Now, I'm sorry that one has got loose in your timeline, but to meddle with time is irresponsible and extremely dangerous."

He closed the gap between them in a few strides, and Helen could see that sadness lurking once more in his dark eyes.

"We wouldn't ask were this not of the utmost importance, Doctor Magnus. We–"

"It's 'Helen'," she interjected quietly.

"We need your help, Helen. Desperately."

Something told her that his anguish was connected somehow to this Abnormal that he and the English government so badly wanted her to set timelines askew to capture. At last she nodded, and saw several of the lines she'd thought permanent disappear from his forehead as he smiled.

"I will at least agree to see this machine..." She didn't want him to think he was getting off easily.

"Naturally," he affirmed.

Linking her arm through his proffered one, they set off into the rain anew.

* * *

Hopefully that was a moderately enjoyable read! :) Apologies for any errors/issues in characterization; I wrote this a very long time ago.


End file.
